Absolution
by draggon-flye
Summary: The one time it mattered most, he fell apart, and it nearly cost Abby her life. Will contain non-sexual spanking of an adult.
1. Chapter 1

I barely heard the elevator doors slide closed behind me as I stormed into the bullpen. Mawher had better be damn glad he was locked in observation because if I laid eyes on the bastard right now, I'd kill him. I clutched the evidence bag containing the faked suicide note so tight my knuckles turn white, hardly noticing that I'm nearly shaking with rage. Oh yes, right now, I'd snap his neck with my bare hands and not have a moment's regret.

I stopped in the middle of my team's area and thrust the bag into the air. "Somebody find someone to process this damn thing because there's no way in hell I'm letting Abby near it."

McGee scrambled to his feet, eager to please. "I've still got contacts in Norfolk, Boss. I'm sure I can find someone to process it."

"Do it."

He was already dialing, phone cradled between his neck and shoulder, intent on his mission. I settled at my desk, still fuming, and listened to snatches of his conversation as he made arrangements for the forensic tech at Norfolk to run the tests. I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the rage. No matter how much I would enjoy killing the bastard, I knew I couldn't. I had to do this by the book and make sure Mawher was put away for a long, long time.

"Sandy in Norfolk will take care of it, boss," McGee said, breaking into my thoughts. "She just needs someone to bring it down to preserve the chain of evidence."

I nodded and passed the evidence bag over to him, silently commanding him to take care of it. He took the bag from me and flipped it over, eyes scanning the painfully familiar writing on the crumpled paper it held. I saw the moment the meaning registered. All color drained instantly from his face, and he stumbled backwards as if hit by a sudden, invisible sucker punch to the gut before dropping limply into his chair.

I realized, too late, that McGee had not been with me when I'd gotten the call from the forensics crew to come to the evidence garage. He knew nothing about the note's contents, nor Mawher's bizarre plot to kill Abby. Until now.

* * *

Tim stared at the crinkled note, fighting hard to swallow the bile that rose in his throat. The handwriting was so like Abby's he would have believed it to be hers if he hadn't known better. But he did know better. There was no way Abby could have written this. No way. Abby would never consider suicide. She'd told him so once, when they were working a case that turned out to be a suicide. For all her unconventional ways, she was still Catholic enough to consider it a mortal sin, if for no other reason than the turmoil and pain it caused for all those left behind.

So, Abby couldn't have written this, but if Abby hadn't written it, that only left one possibility. Mikel had planned to kill her. The scene in his apartment came back to him in a flash. Abby cornered on the toilet in his bathroom, only her own quick wits and a painfully thin door separating her from Mawher. His stomach lurched painfully. He'd left her alone with a mad man who planned to kill her. This time, he barely made it to the head in time.

Moments later, standing over the sink, scooping water into his mouth and trying vainly to stop shaking, the guilt hit him like a lead weight. Abby had nearly gotten killed, and it was all his fault. He'd failed, spectacularly, miserably failed. Abby was in protective custody, _his _protective custody, and he'd left her alone. Gibbs had trusted him to take care of her, to protect her, and what had he done, he'd left her alone. All over a stupid toothbrush. Who cared if she used his toothbrush? Sure, it was gross, but it wasn't worth her life. What had he been thinking?

He'd broken the cardinal rule of protection. He'd left a protectee alone. Trouble was, he hadn't been thinking of Abby as a protectee. He had been thinking of her like a friend, and he'd believed her when she said Gibbs was just being overprotective. He hadn't been thinking like an agent at all. He'd let everything go, let everything slide. He'd forgotten everything he knew, everything he'd been trained to do. The one time it mattered most, he'd fallen apart, and it had nearly cost Abby her life. Some agent he was. Hell, he didn't deserve to be an NCIS agent at all.

There was only one thing left to do.


	2. Chapter 2

I watched McGee leap up from his desk and bolt to the head, looking more than a little green around the gills. That wasn't good. I never meant to hit him blindside like that. I may be a class-A bastard, but I wouldn't do that to him. Not intentionally.

Giving it to him cold had been harsh, and I wasn't surprised that he was upset, but the intensity of his reaction worried me. It knew he cared about Abby. We all did, McGee maybe more so than most. Though I doubted they knew it, I was well aware that, at one time, they had been more than just friends and coworkers. It had fizzled out quickly, but I knew they remained close and still harbored soft spots for each other.

Still, something in my gut niggled at me. The shared intimacy might explain a lot, but this felt like more, a lot more. Before I could reason it out though, McGee returned to his desk. He was pale and visibly shaken but seemed steady enough. I breathed a small sigh of relief when he sat down at his desk and started clickety-clacking away on his computer. Maybe I was over reacting. Maybe the kid would be all right after all.

I took a deep breath and headed into interrogation, determined to get a confession. It was time to put this scumbag away for good.

When I returned, I was surprised to see McGee still sitting at his desk typing. I'd expected him to be on the road to Norfolk long ago. "Finish up that report, McGee," I said, passing by his desk. "You need to get on the road."

"Almost done, Boss," he replied. It was the normal kind of casual conversation we had innumerable times every day. It should have passed without even a thought, but today, there was an odd strained note in McGee's voice that made me look up.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary though. McGee punched a button on his computer that made his printer spring to life, grabbed the paper as soon as it came out and shoved it into a report folder on his desk then headed for the stairs, presumably headed to the motor pool to requisition a car for the trip.

I moved over to his desk and picked up the report. I wouldn't normally go onto his desk without his permission, but it was lying in plain sight, and I needed the report to finish up the Mawher case. At least, that's what I told myself. I flipped open the report, half hoping that reading McGee's version of the events at his apartment would help put to rest the nagging worry in my gut or at the very least explain what it was I couldn't quite put my finger on. It might've worked, except when I skimmed over the paper in my hand what I was reading wasn't his report.

It was his resignation.


	3. Chapter 3

Gibbs swore vehemently under his breath. He'd screwed this up, royally. He'd known McGee felt guilty. That's what yesterday's kneeling exercise had been about, a token punishment to help relieve the guilt. He hadn't really blamed McGee. Though Tim had done his best to minimize it, it had been clear from their reports that Abby had basically pushed him into it against his better judgment. That didn't absolve Tim of his own involvement, any more than it absolved a child who had been talked into misbehavior by an older child or an accessory who'd been manipulated into participating in a crime, but he of all people understood how pushy and sometimes downright manipulative Abby could be. So, he didn't blame McGee—much. However, he'd apparently seriously underestimated how much McGee blamed himself.

He looked again at the folder in his hand. Damn but this was a mess. Tim was clearly prepared to fall on his sword, but he'd be damned if he'd let the kid ruin both his life and career, and he'd be damned if he'd lose one of his best agents over a misplaced and overdeveloped sense of guilt. The question was, just what the hell was he going to do about it?

He only knew of two cures for guilt: restitution and punishment. But there wasn't really any appropriate restitution Tim could make in this case, and he'd already tried to give him a punishment and that had failed miserably, though to be fair it was now perfectly obvious that the token punishment wasn't anywhere commensurate with the guilt McGee felt. It was, after all, only a token and not meant to be a real punishment.

An idea was forming in the back of his mind, and he didn't like it at all. The hell of it was, he knew it would probably work. He scrubbed a hand over his head. Damn it all, he hadn't used corporal punishment in years, and now he was considering doing it twice in as many days. Had he stepped into the damned Twilight Zone or something?

He looked again at the folder he held in his hand and knew he didn't really have a choice. He'd left him stewing in his own guilt for too long already, and it had very nearly led to disaster. Right now, he knew full well if he didn't do something drastic, he'd end up losing one of the most brilliant young agents he'd ever come across. And given those options, it wasn't even a choice.

Looking up, he saw McGee coming back down the hall, car keys and travel paperwork in hand. "Change of plans, McGee," he said. "Call your friend and tell her that DiNozzo is bringing down the evidence. You're with me."

Tim froze, baffled by the rapid-fire turn of events. "Boss?" he questioned, confusion clear on his face.

"Make the call, McGee," Gibbs replied, plucking the keys from Tim's hand and tossing them at Tony.

Tim moved to obey, heart sinking. Clearly Gibbs didn't even trust him to do something as simple as delivering evidence anymore. As he spoke to Sandy, he could hear Tony complaining in the background behind him about having to make the drive, but Gibbs refused to budge. If only Tony knew just how much he would love to make that long drive for him. The idea that he'd failed so completely that Gibbs could no longer trust him was sickening, and he'd do anything to prove himself competent again, not to mention he'd hoped that by helping to get the evidence analyzed he could in some small way, make it up to Abby for the danger he had put her in. Now, he wouldn't even get the chance to do that.

Then, he saw the folder Gibbs held in his hand and nearly had to bolt to the head again. Gibbs had found his letter. This couldn't be happening. He wasn't ready for this yet. He knew he wasn't fit to be an agent anymore, but he needed time—to get up his nerve, to figure out what to do, just to think straight. This whole day had been a jumbled up, confusing mess that had both his mind and emotions spinning. He could barely string a coherent thought together, let alone face Gibbs and resign.

Oh, god, maybe that was why Gibbs wanted him to stay behind. He was going to be fired. His stomach clenched painfully, and his chest ached like he wanted to cry. He couldn't argue with the decision. He knew he wasn't fit to be an agent anymore, but he loved his job. The thought of losing it ached like a mortal wound. He knew it was inevitable, but he'd hoped to be allowed to resign and slip away quietly before the proverbial ax fell. He should have known better.

"Planning on standing there all day, McGee," Gibbs snapped. "With me. Now."

Tim realized belatedly that Gibbs must have been calling him for several moments. "Coming, Boss," he replied, scrambling to obey. He followed Gibbs deep into the bowels of the NCIS building, through a serpentine maze of orange hallways he hadn't even known existed. Where was Gibbs taking him? If he was going to fire him, why not just go into the conference room or even his 'office' in the elevator? Why go through all this? Tim was grateful for the privacy it afforded but really, it seemed a bit excessive.

Gibbs stopped abruptly, opened a door, and stepped inside. Not knowing what else to do, Tim followed. The room had obviously been used as a conference room at some point, an old table with mismatched chairs still stood in the center of the room, but given the number of dented filing cabinets and three-legged desks that littered the room, its current use was clearly storage. Why had Gibbs brought him to a storage room?

Before he could articulate the thought, Gibbs closed the door and tossed the folder on the table. The folder bounced open with the force of impact, leaving his letter lying alone in the middle of the empty table, stark and glaring under the harsh florescent light.

"Care to tell me what the hell that's all about?" Gibbs asked.

'Not really,' Tim thought, but aloud he said quietly, "I'm resigning, Boss."

"Like hell you are," Gibbs growled.

Tim winced but held his ground. "I have to, Boss."

"Why?" Gibbs demanded.

Tim dropped his head, shuffling like a naughty child. "I failed, Boss. I left Abby alone, and he nearly got her—a murderer nearly got her. I don't deserve to be an agent if I can't do better than that."

Gibbs watched him silently. The kid's anguish was painful, but Tim didn't need his pity now. He needed absolution. "Let me see if I get this straight," he said. "You think because you screwed up Abby's protection detail and Mawher got in that you don't deserve to be an agent anymore." Saying it aloud, it sounded utterly ridiculous, but Tim didn't seem to notice.

"I don't," he insisted.

"Well," Gibbs said slowly, "you did screw up, I'll give you that."

Tim visibly flinched but didn't argue.

"But," Gibbs went on, "I don't think it merits your resignation.

"I nearly got her killed, Boss," Tim blurted.

Gibbs held up a hand, cutting off the argument. "I'm not saying it wasn't a big deal, but I have an alternative."

"What kind of alternative?" Tim asked.

"I'll punish you," Gibbs replied.

Tim raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Think this a little beyond a reprimand, Boss," he muttered.

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Paper punishments are useless, McGee."

Tim shot him a confused look. "What do you mean, Boss?"

"I'm talking about the old fashioned physical kind, McGee." When Tim, rather than understanding, began to look even more confused, Gibbs went on, "I mean a spanking."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** This section contains a detailed discussion of spanking as a method of discipline for both children and adults. This story is a work of fiction and in no way intended as a debate on the merits of lack thereof of spanking. It also contains a detailed memory of spanking a child, though no onscreen spanking of that child, and the onscreen nonsexual spanking of an adult. If any of the above offends you, **hit the back button now.**

* * *

Tim's eyes flared wide and he took several involuntary steps backward before he realized what he was doing and brought himself forcefully to a halt. "You want me to let you hit me?" he asked, incredulous. He stared at Gibbs, shocked and more than a little scared. Whatever he'd expected when Gibbs called him in here, this wasn't it.

"Not hit, Mcgee, spank, there's a difference." Gibbs gestured toward the chairs flanking the table and waited until McGee dropped into one before taking the seat across from him.

"Not according to my parents," Mcgee muttered. It was nearly a whisper, spoken almost by reflex, and clearly not meant for other ears, but Gibbs was a trained sniper whose life had often depended on hearing the smallest sound. He heard every word.

"They didn't believe in spanking then?" Gibbs asked. Somehow, the knowledge didn't surprise him. Tim was a good kid, sensitive and eager to please. It rarely took more than a sharp look or a stern word to snap him back in line, and it probably never had. He wondered briefly, amusedly, what Tim's parents would have done with a stubborn, headstrong kid like Abby or like his own daughter had been.

"No," Tim said, looking at his hands. "They always said parents who loved their kids didn't hit them."

Gibbs scrubbed a hand over his head. He'd expected McGee to be resistant. Who wouldn't be? He hadn't expected to have to rearrange the kid's fundamental beliefs. The fact was, he knew McGee's parents were wrong, dead wrong, but he wasn't sure how to tell the kid that. He wasn't exactly an expert on parenting, after all. He was, however, a father, and it was his own experiences that had taught him what he knew. Knowing what he had to do, he took a deep, steadying breath and asked quietly, "Do you believe I loved my daughter, Tim?"

Tim started, stunned by both the unaccustomed use of his given name and Gibbs's sudden mention of the family he'd never spoken of before. "Of course, Boss," the reply was immediate and absolute without any room for doubt.

Gibbs gave him a small grateful smile before continuing, "I spanked her. Not often, but when she needed it."

Tim's eyes widened, shock written clear on his face. He couldn't imagine Gibbs ever hitting his kid. He'd seen Gibbs with kids. He was gentle and easygoing. Tim had always imagined that Gibbs would have been the very picture of a doting, protective father. Now, he was admitting to hitting his kid. The very thought was mind boggling. "Needed?" Tim echoed, grasping on to the only coherent thought he could find. "No offense, Boss, but why would a kid ever need to be hit?"

"No kid needs to be hit, son," Gibbs said, "but some need an occasional spanking. Kelly did, and she knew it." The memory came to him unbidden the moment the words left his mouth, as clear and vivid as if it had happened yesterday rather than nearly twenty years ago. "Kelly stole a bottle of nail polish when she was seven," he told Tim, chuckling at the shocked look the younger man gave him. "Yeah, I was pretty shocked when Shannon told me too. Apparently, Shannon had run to the Bx earlier that day to pick up a few things, and Kelly pocketed a bottle of fingernail polish in the process. Shannon caught her with it, chewed her out, and made her go back to the store, admit what she'd done, pay for it and apologize."

Tim nodded. That seemed like a perfectly reasonable consequence to him, but what did that have to do with all this hitting business?

"Then, Shannon made her tell me."

Tim cringed. Facing Gibbs was bad enough for him, and he was a trained federal agent. He couldn't imagine how scary it must have been for a little girl.

Gibbs bit back a smile. Kelly'd had much the same look that afternoon when he walked into her bedroom. He'd gone straight in to her, not even bothering change out of his BDU's like he normally did, figuring she had been waiting and worrying long enough. She was sitting on her bed, idly playing with one of those little plastic dolls she liked, Polly something or other. He could never remember the name. He could tell she wasn't really playing though, just fiddling with nervous energy.

"Hey, kiddo," he said, crossing over to her, "what's up? Mom said you needed to talk to me?"

Kelly nodded, head down, picking nervously at a stray thread on her Strawberry Shortcake bedspread.

Gibbs sat down beside her and gently caught her chin in his hand. "What's going on, Kell? You know you can talk to me, right?" He knew, of course, exactly what was going on. Shannon had already filled him in, but he wanted to hear it from Kelly.

"I got in trouble today," she said quietly, studying her vivid blue fingernails intently.

"You did?" he said. "What happened?"

Kelly squirmed, clearly uncomfortable. She drew the bottle of blue fingernail polish out of her pocket and dropped it in Gibbs's free hand. "I took it," she whispered.

"Took it?" Gibbs prompted.

"From the store," Kelly went on quietly.

"So you stole it," Gibbs clarified sternly.

Kelly winced. "Yes, sir," she admitted.

That answer alone told him just how upset Kelly was. She, like most military kids, had been taught to use the title with his COs and others in authority, but she rarely used it with him. That she did so now told him she was very scared. He felt for her; he truly did, but he'd seen too many Marines ruin lives and careers over theft and burglary in his days as a MP to go easy on her just yet.

"Kelly Ann Gibbs, you know better, young lady."

Kelly seemed to curl up even smaller, shying away from the sternness and disappointment in his tone. "I'm sorry, daddyDaddy," she said quietly.

"Does your mom know?" Gibbs questioned, just as quiet but very firm.

Kelly nodded. "She found it and made me go back and pay for it and 'pologize. And I gotta do extra chores to make up for the money Mommy gave me to pay for it."

"Good." He studied her intently for several long, tense moments. "Why, Kelly?" he asked finally. "What were you thinking?"

Kelly shrugged. "It was pretty and I wanted it."

"You wanted it," Gibbs echoed, incredulously. "That makes it ok to _steal_?"

Kelly shook her head. "No, sir. I'm sorry."

"If you wanted it so much, why didn't you just ask Mommy?" Gibbs asked.

"She would've said no," Kelly said, just a bit of petulance creeping back into her voice.

"She might have," Gibbs conceded, "or she might not have. You never gave her the chance. Instead, you chose to steal, which is not only very wrong but is also against the law."

"It is?" Kelly squeaked.

Gibbs nodded. "Back when I was an MP, I had to put people in jail for stealing."

Kelly looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes. "Am I going to jail, Daddy?"

For the first time, he let his stern demeanor waiver, pulling her onto his lap and holding her. "No, baby, you're not going to jail. Mommy said the store manager decided that since you admitted what you did and apologized that he'd let me and Mommy handle it and not involve the MPs."

Kelly breathed a sigh of relief, clinging to him. "I'm really sorry, Daddy."

"I know you are, Kell. I believe you, but I need you to understand that this can never, ever happen again. Just because the store didn't call the MPs today doesn't mean they won't. The store manager trusted you had learned your lesson, but if it happens again, he won't."

"I won't do it again, Daddy," Kelly told him solemnly. "I promise."

"Good girl," Gibbs said, holding her tight. "Then we'll consider the discussion closed as long as you do the chores Mommy gives you."

He expected Kelly to grin and run off to play, but instead Kelly looked up at him with a shocked expression. "You mean I'm not getting a spanking?"

Gibbs started to speak, fully intending to say of course not, that she had already been punished and there was no reason for him to spank her, but something in her expression stopped him. "Do you think you should?" he asked.

Kelly stared at him, stunned. Clearly, she hadn't expected to be given a choice in the matter. He could see her wavering, indecision clear in every line of her body. Several times, she opened her mouth as though to speak but shut it again and dropped her head, studying the floor and twisting her hands nervously in her lap.

"Answer me, Kelly," he prompted.

Kelly took a deep, shaky breath. "Prob'ly," she said quietly, "was really bad." The words were so soft as to be barely audible, but the guilt and recrimination that prompted them were palpable.

Gibbs sighed. This was one of those moments when his daughter was every inch his child, who had, for better or worse, inherited his sense of guilt and need for absolution. "Look at me." The command was gentle but clearly a command. To his surprise, Kelly didn't move but stayed stock still, eyes fixed on the floor. "Now, Kelly Ann."

That did it. Kelly's head popped up, and she turned to him, eyes bright with unshed tears. He caught her chin and held her gaze. "Listen to me," he ordered softly. "Yes, stealing's bad, but _you_ are not, understood?" Kelly nodded but averted her eyes. Whatever remaining hesitancy he had, left in that moment. Without another word, he picked her up and gently laid her over his lap.

"And I spanked her," he told Mcgee. "Not because she stole the nail polish—Shannon had already handled that—but because she needed it, to let go of the guilt and shame that was swallowing her."

McGee stared at him incredulously. "You expect me to believe that a kid _needed_ to be hit?"

The slap that connected with the back of his head was sudden and completely unexpected. McGee winced as his head rocked forward.

"Will you stop saying that?" Gibbs flared. "I never hit Kelly."

McGee shot him a doubtful look.

"Have I ever hit you?" Gibbs asked.

"Well, yeah…" McGee said slowly, rubbing his head. Gibbs slanted him a sideways look, arching an eyebrow. "I mean, not really," McGee continued, stammering. "Just headslaps, and that's not really _hitting_ hitting…No, Boss, I guess not, but you're not talking about just a headslap."

"Stand up."

Confusion spread across McGee's face, but he obeyed without question.

Gibbs reached around and swatted him hard across the ass.

McGee yelped. "Ow, Boss, what was that for?"

"That was all I ever did to Kelly," Gibbs said pointedly.

"Oh," Tim said softly. Gibbs nodded toward the chair where Tim had been sitting, and Tim dropped into it, rubbing absently at his now stinging backside. His mind was whirring with a roiling mass of conflicting thoughts. Logically, he had to concede that the swat and the headslap weren't physically all that different. If anything, other than being applied to a far more intimate and personal part of the anatomy, the swat was probably actually safer than a headslap. After all, no one ever got brain damage from falling on their ass.

On the other hand, everything he'd believed for his entire life told him spanking was wrong; yet Gibbs, whom he trusted implicitly, seemed to believe it was not only ok but sometimes necessary. And then there was the disturbing similarity between the headslap and the spank. If his parents were right, maybe that meant the headslaps were wrong too. Except…they didn't feel wrong. Sure, they were unorthodox, and it'd taken him a while to get used to it. After all, he'd grown up completely without physical punishment so of course that sort of swift, decisive reprimand had taken some getting used to. But it had never felt inherently wrong.

But if headslaps weren't wrong, what did that mean about spanking? Did it mean spanking wasn't wrong either? And if it did, did it mean his parents were? He wasn't really comfortable with that notion either.

Tim sighed. He was a mathematical logical person. He thought in straight lines and discrete categories, and this was neither. Either Gibbs was wrong or his parents were wrong and neither idea felt true.

Unless… Maybe neither one was entirely right nor entirely wrong either. Perhaps Gibbs's method worked for his daughter because she was conditioned to accept it. But he'd never had any experience with it at all so the likelihood of it working for him was very slim. Now, if he could just explain that to Gibbs…

"Um, Boss," he said hesitantly, "maybe it worked for—" He paused, unsure of how he should refer to Gibbs's daughter.

Gibbs seemed to sense the source of his hesitation. "Kelly. Her name was Kelly. You can say it."

Tim nodded. "Maybe it worked for Kelly because she was conditioned to accept it, but I don't have that conditioning."

Like hell, Gibbs thought, eyeing the younger man critically. He might never have been spanked before, but he clearly had a strong sense of guilt and felt the need for punishment. He'd been administering a hell of a beating to himself all day.

"If that's the case," he asked quietly, leaning into Tim's space, "then why the hell have you been beating yourself up all day?"

For a moment, Tim stared in stunned silence unsure of what to say or do. His first instinct was to deny it, but the look on Gibbs's face dared him to try. He hadn't been beating himself up. Sure, he felt bad—horrible really. Beyond horrible, the guilt weighed in his chest like a stone. But what kind of agent-–what kind of man—would he be if he didn't feel horrible after leaving Abby alone with a madman who wanted her dead.

"That's what I thought," Gibbs said quietly, taking Tim's silence for acquiescence and getting to his feet. "Let's get this done."

"No, boss, wait," McGee said hastily, frantic to stop this sudden turn of events. "I never said punishment wouldn't work, I just said—you know, um, spanking wouldn't work. Can't you just ground me or something? That always worked when I was a kid." ." Not that he'd ever really been grounded more than once or twice either, but it'd worked.

Now it was Gibbs's turn to stare in stunned silence. Had the kid absolutely lost his damn mind? Had he actually suggested he be grounded, like some damn teenager? Just how the hell was that supposed to help anything?

"Just how would that work exactly, McGee?" Gibbs asked dryly. "We're on call all hours so a curfew isn't going to work. You need to be reachable and able to report at all times so I can't suspend phone or driving privileges. It's not like you have time to do go out, given how much we work. So how exactly could you be grounded?"

"Oh, umm, well, hadn't really thought of that, Boss," McGee stammered.

"Besides, just how does that help?" Gibbs continued. "Giving you time to sit and wallow certainly isn't going to help the guilt."

"Nothing will," McGee murmured under his breath. Despite having serious doubts as to Gibbs's methods, he desperately wished what Gibbs had said was true. He really wished there was something that would help the guilt, but guilt didn't work that way. At least not in his experience. You screwed up; you felt guilty about it; you learned to live with it, but the guilt never truly went away, not completely.

"Yes, it will," Gibbs insisted. He was floored by the utter conviction he heard in Tim's voice. Did the kid truly have no concept of punishment and forgiveness? He'd always known McGee had grown up fast. He'd graduated high school at 16, and by the time he was old enough to buy his own beer, he'd held a Master's from MIT; yet, for all the kid's brains, Gibbs was rapidly realizing he'd missed a few very important lessons along the way.

McGee sighed, looking doubtful.

Gibbs scrubbed a hand over his head. This was getting them nowhere. "Do you trust me, Tim?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, sir," Tim said, very soft and very young.

Normally, the sir would've brought an immediate reprimand, but to do so now would've taken the already fragile young man apart. For Abby, the title went back to her childhood and the southern manners she'd been taught. From Tim, the title was a quiet acknowledgement of his authority, and he honored it for the gift it was.

"Then, just do as you're told," he told McGee. Don't think about it. Don't argue. Just do as you're told."

"But Boss…"

"Trust me, McGee," he said, gentle but firm.

Tim gave a tiny nod. "Yes, sir," he said softly. To him, trusting Gibbs was never in question. Never. Even as frightened as he was—and make no mistake, he was terrified—there was never a doubt in his mind that he would follow this man into the fire if necessary. That being said, there was no real question of obeying either. He still had serious doubts about the whole spanking thing, but if Gibbs thought it was what he deserved then he'd take it. If he could just get through it without passing out or throwing up.

Gibbs nodded. He'd never convince the boy of it, but he was damn proud of McGee at this moment and frankly staggered at the amount of trust the younger man was showing. Tim was clearly terrified yet there wasn't the slightest hesitation in his voice. Right now though, the kindest thing he could do was take charge and get it over with.

He jerked his head toward the table in the center of the room. "Bend over the table."

Tim paled visibly. "Wait, Boss. Um…Uh…Um…What's going to happen?"

That, Gibbs thought, was the $25,000 question. When he'd brought Tim back here, he'd intended to use his belt, just as he always had with his Marines, but there was no way he could take a belt to the boy now. Not when McGee was visibly trembling and looking up at him like a wide-eyed, scared little boy. On the other hand, Tim wasn't a child, and a spanking with his hand, like he had given both Kelly and Abby, wasn't something either of them would be comfortable with.

He let his eyes scan the room, doing a quick recon for a suitable alternative among the hodgepodge clutter that littered the room. He found his solution in the form of a small hand broom tossed haphazardly in one of the cardboard boxes shoved against the wall, probably left there by some well meaning member of the janitorial crew who'd since forgotten about it. The broom looked positively ancient, and probably was, given that half the bristles were missing and its handle was wooden rather than the more modern plastic variety, but the flat, wooden rectangular back was solid, reminiscent of an oversized hairbrush or small paddle, and would suit his purposes nicely.

He stepped over and picked it up then turned back to Tim. "You're going to bend over that table. I'll hold you down - that will be easier for you than asking you to stay in position on your own. Then I'll spank you... with this." He held the broom up, wood side out, for Tim to see.

Tim's eyes grew wide and his mouth opened and closed wordlessly. He visibly swallowed, and finally managed to find his voice. "Is it going to... I mean, I know it's going to hurt, but...uh...how much?"

"A lot," Gibbs said honestly. "I won't lie to you. It's going to be bad; it has to be, to do any good. But it won't be more than you can handle. I would never harm you. I hope you know that."

Tim nodded, his face very pale. "I know that, Boss."

Gibbs rested his hand comfortingly on Tim's shoulder, and waited until McGee met his eyes. "There's one more thing, Tim. There's no changing your mind. I can pretty much guarantee that you're going to want me to stop. But, when we do this, we're going to see it through. You don't have to try to take it quietly. If it helps you to scream at me, that's fine. But it doesn't stop until I decide you're ready. Understood?"

Tim blanched even more impossibly pale, and for a moment Gibbs was sure he was either going to pass out or throw up, but to McGee's credit, he held his own. "Yes, sir," he said in a choked whisper.

"You know what to do," Gibbs told him, turning him around to face the table.

Tim stood frozen. He knew what Gibbs wanted, but he found himself unable to take that final step.

"Now, Timothy," Gibbs ordered, edging into his command tone.

That did it. The combination of the command tone and the use of his full name had him obeying instantly, leaning over the table and burying his face in his folded arms. He felt Gibbs plant a restraining hand in the middle of his back then heard the resounding crack of the wood against his ass. For a moment, he didn't feel anything, and he wondered briefly what he'd been so afraid of. Then, suddenly, his brain caught up with his butt, and a streak of fiery pain blazed through him. Gibbs didn't give him time to recover just kept paddling him hard and fast until his ass was on fire and all he could do was cry. And then, as quickly as it begun it was over.

Gibbs laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "It's ok, son, it's over," he said softly. "You're forgiven."

Tim looked up at him with wet, red-rimmed eyes. "Really?" he asked, sounding very small and very young.

"Yes, really," Gibbs said, continuing to rub his shoulder. "You made a mistake, but you've been punished and it's over. It's time to move on."

Tim took a deep, shaky breath and pushed himself up off the table, swiping at his eyes. "Sorry, Boss," he muttered quietly then cringed. "I mean, I know how you feel about apologies, but…"

"I just told you it's over, McGee," Gibbs said, mildly exasperated. "There's no need to apologize."

"Not that," Tim whispered.

"What then?" Gibbs asked.

"I know I didn't take this well," he said, blushing furiously.

"Didn't take…What the hell are you talking about, McGee?"

McGee shuffled, flicking his eyes to the makeshift paddle Gibbs had left lying on the table.

Gibbs followed his gaze with his own, brow furrowed in confusion. Then, suddenly, Tim's meaning dawned. "Aw, hell, McGee, that was the point. You're supposed to cry."

"But…" Tim protested, squirming self-consciously.

"But nothing," Gibbs countered. "I've seen many a young Marine be reduced to sobbing like a baby after a punishment like that. There is no shame in tears. Crying is part of the healing."

Tim nodded but looked decidedly doubtful.

"I mean it, Timothy," Gibbs said sternly. "I won't have you beating yourself up over some boneheaded idea of weakness."

"Got it, Boss," Tim said, feeling sheepish. How did Gibbs manage to know exactly what he was thinking?

"Good." Gibbs squeezed Tim's shoulder one last time then stepped back. "Hit the head and get yourself together. Then, when you're ready, go down and help Abby. She's swamped." With that, he stepped out and closed the door, leaving Tim alone.


	5. Chapter 5

McGee sprawled face down on his bed. He was physically and emotionally exhausted, but the persistent ache in his backside and the thoughts crowding his head wouldn't let him rest. Normally, when he was this unsettled, he'd lose himself in one of his MMORPG's, but at the moment, even the thought of sitting was painful.

He still couldn't believe he'd been spanked. He was a grown man and a trained federal agent, and he'd been spanked for the first time in his life. And what's more, he still couldn't even begin to figure out how he felt about it.

He didn't like it, that much he was sure of. It had hurt like hell, still did, but at the same time, he had to admit that it had, as Gibbs had predicted, helped to alleviate the crushing guilt he'd felt. Normally, the guilt would have plagued him for weeks, months even, but to his utter amazement, most of the heavy boulder of guilt sitting in his chest seemed to have disappeared, dissolved by the blistering paddling he'd received at Gibbs's hands.

That confused him even more. All his life he'd been taught that spanking was wrong, abusive even. So, how could something that was so wrong have actually helped him? Before he could pursue that thought any further, a knock at his door interrupted him.

He glanced at the clock, frowning. Who would be at his door at 7:30 on a weeknight? He didn't really get visitors often, and certainly not out of the blue. He debated ignoring it. He wasn't really in the mood for company, but the knock came again, banging this time.

"Timmy, it's me," Abby called from the other side of the door. "Let me in. I've got food."

Tim groaned. What was Abby doing here? He wasn't sure he could handle being with her anymore today. Working with her in the lab had been agony, trying to hide the pain he was in. He'd tried to sit as little as possible, but not all computer work could be done standing. Sitting hurt like hell, and the strain of hiding it had worn his already fragile nerves to bits. The last thing he wanted to do was hide more.

"Timmy!" Abby pounded on the door again, harder this time. "Don't make me pick the lock."

Sighing, Tim slid slowly off the side of the bed, careful not to let his butt come into contact with the mattress and scrambled around in search of the pants he'd kicked off earlier. He wasn't entirely sure that Abby could pick the lock, but he knew her too well to chance it. Spotting some sweats in a basket of laundry he hadn't yet put away, he slipped those on instead and padded barefoot to the door.

He opened the door, and Abby pushed her way inside, lugging an armful of bags which she promptly deposited on the counter. Without a word, she began bustling around his kitchen, pulling pots out of the cabinets and food out of the bags with an efficiency that surprised him.

"Um, hi, Abs," he said slowly, shocked by this sudden and unexpected invasion. "What are you doing here?"

"Cooking," Abby said, in a tone that suggested the answer should have been patently obvious.

"Yeah," Tim replied, "I can see that, but why?"

"You had a pretty rough day today, thought you could use the company." She pulled a cutting board out of a cabinet, took a bundle of celery out of one of the bags, rinsed it quickly, and dropped it onto the cutting board then pulled out a knife and handed it to McGee. "I cook; you chop."

McGee took the knife, grateful for something to do to break the awkwardness he felt. Something in Abby's casual comment bothered him. Why would she think he'd had a long day? He knew she didn't know about the note. Gibbs had been adamant about that. She couldn't know about what had happened with him and Gibbs, could she? That conference room was buried so deep in the building that he had no idea how Gibbs even knew about it, much less anybody else. The chance of anyone overhearing them was next to impossible. So, what did she mean?

"Um, not that I'm complaining or anything," he said, passing over the celery. He'd managed to do a passable, if somewhat awkward, job of chopping it. "But what makes you think that?"

Abby slanted him a sideways look, biting her lip, eyes wide. "Gibbs spanked you today, didn't he?" she asked finally.

The knife clattered to counter. Tim stared at her, utterly shocked. "How the hell do you know about that?" Too late, he realized he'd confirmed her suspicions. He thought briefly of trying to backpedal and deny it but gave it up as pointless. Abby'd never believe it anyway.

"You weren't exactly sitting comfortably in the lab today," Abby said quietly, adding the celery he'd chopped to the onions she was cooking. "I figured it out."

McGee groaned and dropped his head. He could feel the tips of his ears burning furiously and knew that if he could see them they'd be scarlet. He'd never been so humiliated in his life. He'd tried so hard to hide it, and Abby had known all along.

"Oh, Timmy," Abby said, coming over and wrapping him in a hug. "It's ok."

"Was it that obvious?" McGee whispered.

"No," Abby told him vehemently, "not at all. I wouldn't have noticed at all except…" she stopped abruptly, trailing off and turned back to dumping the onions and celery along with several cans of peas and tomatoes into a soup pot.

"Except what?" Tim pressed.

She hesitated a moment before asking, "Did you see me sit down anywhere at all when you were in the lab today?"

McGee frowned, thinking. "Well, no, but you never sit anywhere for very long. What does that have to do with—"

"Wasn't exactly sitting comfortably myself," Abby put in quietly.

Tim stared at her for a moment in confusion then slowly the confusion turned to shock as understanding dawned. "What? You can't be serious. You mean he…you too?"

Abby nodded, blushing scarlet. "Yeah, last night."

"And you let him?" Tim spluttered, aghast.

Abby shrugged, lifting the pot into the sink and filling it with water. "I deserved it," she said quietly.

Tim stepped over and took the filled pot from her hands, setting it back on the stove. "Why?"

"Why?" Abby echoed. "You, of all people, know why."

Tim could only stare, dumbfounded. He was having a hard enough time wrapping his head around the notion of anyone, at all, deserving it. The notion that Gibbs would punish Abby, who they all knew was his favorite, that way completely boggled his mind. "No, I don't," he told her.

"I screwed up," she said, studying her hands. "I opened the door. You told me not to. I knew not to, and I did it anyway. Like Gibbs said, even a kid knows better than that. Besides, I should have told you guys about Mikel a long time ago."

McGee nodded. He couldn't argue with anything she'd said, but he couldn't quite reconcile it either. "But why a spanking?"

Abby shrugged. "It's what my daddy would've done, and Gibbs has always been kinda like a surrogate dad for me, you know?" She shrugged again. "It just seemed right, I guess."

Tim nodded again. That made sense, in a way. Everybody knew Gibbs considered Abby like a daughter so, now that he thought about it, it wasn't really a stretch to see him taking her to task in a more parental way, and if that was what Abby expected from her dad…

"Not mine," he heard himself say softly. It was barely above a whisper, but Abby, whose hearing was akin to the bats she favored, heard it.

"What?" she asked.

"It's not what my dad would have done," he said. Make no mistake about it, Cmdr. Robert McGee would have torn a strip off him, verbally, but he would have never laid a hand on him. Even now, long past childhood, he still winced at the memory of his father's lectures. Even Gunny Gibbs had nothing on his dad.

Abby raised an eyebrow. She didn't ask, but he could see the question in her eyes.

"My parents didn't believe in spanking," he told her.

Abby nodded. "Neither did my mom."

Tim shot her a confused look. "I thought you said…"

"I said it's what my dad would have done," she clarified. "And it is. Gloria, on the other hand, would have never considered in a million years."

For Tim, who, at least until today, had divided the parenting world into good parents and bad parents with spanking parents falling squarely on the side of bad, the idea of having both kinds in the same family, was completely mind boggling. He stared at her, gaping like a landed fish.

Watching him, Abby couldn't stop a giggle from escaping. He just looked so utterly shocked, as if she'd just blurted out that she was pregnant with twins and he was the father or something.

Tim glared at her. "It's not funny," he grumbled. "You have to understand. Nobody in my whole life ever punished me physically until Gibbs. The first time Gibbs head-slapped me was literally the first time anyone ever laid a hand on me like that. I was always taught that hitting was abuse."

For Abby, who grew up in the South and in Catholic schools where spanking was simply a commonly accepted method of discipline, it was hard to imagine equating the two. "Hitting is," she said, picking up a long wooden spoon to stir the soup and remembering somewhat amusedly that such a spoon had been her Grandma Scuito's method of choice for dealing with her errant grandchildren, "spanking's not."

Tim thought briefly that if he heard that maddening distinction one more time today he might well pull all his hair out. "That's what Gibbs said, too," he told Abby, "but I'm not sure I get it. What's the difference?"

Instead of answering, Abby countered with a question of her own, "If you really don't understand, why did you let him do it?"

"As if we ever let Gibbs do anything," Tim quipped, giving her a small smile.

Abby smiled back. "I know, I know, and normally I would agree with you, but this is different, you know? We are adults, and he can't exactly do it unless we agree. Well, I guess he could. I mean, I know he has mad skills, being a Marine and all, but he wouldn't ever do that, not to us. Surely you know that?"

"Yeah," Tim agreed, nodding.

"So…" Abby pressed.

Tim sighed and shrugged, leaning carefully against the counter. "It's Gibbs, you know?"

Abby nodded but didn't respond, waiting.

Tim sighed again. "I guess," he began. Then, he stopped again, considering. "I trust him," he said quietly. "And, like you said, it seemed right, somehow. Gibbs thought it was what I needed, so…"

"So that's it," Abby pushed, clearly not buying it. "You've believed all your life that spanking was abuse, but Gibbs thought you needed it so you just gave in."

The edge in her voice was enough to make Tim blush and drop his head. "He said it'd help," Tim answered softly.

"How so?" Abby asked, gentle now.

"With the guilt," he whispered, feeling the tips of his ears burning again. "I never should have left you alone."

"I practically dared you," Abby countered.

"Maybe," Tim said noncommittally, "but I'm a federal agent, and we both know Gibbs meant it as a protection detail. You never, ever leave a protectee alone."

Abby looked as though she were about to argue but held it back. Instead, she asked quietly, "Did it?"

"Did it what?" Tim asked, not following the rapid shift in conversation. The soup was well on its way to being done by now, and it filled the room with a hearty aroma, making his tiny kitchen seem warm and cozy. Tim felt himself beginning to relax, despite the fact that he was wholly uncomfortable with the conversation.

"Did it help?" Abby clarified, moving to stir the soup again.

Tim went quiet for a long moment, considering. As uncomfortable as he was, he had to admit that most of it was physical. The guilt was nearly gone, and emotionally, he felt lighter somehow, as if he had well and truly paid for his misdeed and could put it behind him. "Yeah," he said finally, in a low voice, "it did."

"That's why I let him," Abby admitted softly. "I remembered that feeling, and I needed it."

Tim nodded, though he himself had no such memory and had a hard time imagining it. For him, punishment had brought no such feeling. It had always been horrid, miserable and something to be avoided at all cost. More than anything, he remembered the overwhelming feeling that he had failed. Again.

"Gibbs said that too," he told Abby. "About needing it. That sometimes people do." He scrubbed a hand over his head then dropped it into his lap and studied it. "He told me about…Kelly."

A flicker of surprise flashed in Abby's eyes, but she merely nodded. "We've talked about her before too."

"He told me," Tim began, "about when he had to—" He paused, considering his words. "About when she," he amended. He bit his lip, eyes shifting nervously across the floor. "Misbehaved."

A corner of Abby's mouth quirked up at Tim's nervousness. Though she and Gibbs had never discussed it, she knew him well enough to know, at least in part, what that discussion had entailed. "I suppose he spanked her too."

"Yeah," Tim told her. He studied Abby's expression, expecting her to be surprised, but it didn't phase her at all. "That doesn't surprise you?" he asked.

Abby shook her head, pigtails flying. "Nope. Not a bit."

"Really?" Tim said. He clearly was surprised. "But he's so good with kids. So gentle."

"The two aren't mutually exclusive, Tim," Abby said drily.

"They always have been," he muttered. "Spanking was wrong, abusive. Not the sort of thing that a gentle, doting father would do."

"Except that he did," Abby countered, surprisingly soft. "And so did my dad. It doesn't make them any less gentle, just means they could be stern too."

Tim shook his head hard, as if forcibly trying to make the words Abby was saying settle into his brain in some way that would make sense. He wasn't so completely idiotic that he didn't understand what she meant, and he could clearly see evidence of both tendencies in Gibbs, especially when he thought about this afternoon. His punishment had been unquestionably stern and hard yet the aftermath had been surprisingly gentle. Every time he thought about the way Gibbs had comforted him and told him he was forgiven, he wanted to smile, despite the fact that his ass still throbbed.

And that confused him all the more. "I just can't get my head around it," he said to Abby irritably, clearly frustrated. All my life I've thought of it as abusive…" he broke off, sighing.

Abby had been moving around the kitchen, breaking open a can of breadsticks and popping them in the oven, pulling out bowls and spoons, but she stopped then and turned to him. "Did it feel abusive?"

Tim blinked at her, confused.

"Today," she clarified. "Did it feel abusive?"

Tim went still and quiet, considering the question seriously. It should have. Everything he believed, everything he'd been taught said it should. And it _had _hurt—badly. The yes should have sprung easily to his lips. And yet, it didn't.

It caught in his throat, and he found he couldn't say it. Because, as much as it should have felt abusive, he couldn't honestly say it did. In fact, he realized with surprise, the word that came to mind when he tried to pinpoint how it felt was exactly the opposite: caring.

He realized then that Abby was still watching, waiting for his answer. "No," he admitted, "it didn't, but I don't know why."

"It's all about intent," Abby told him. "Gibbs wasn't trying to hurt you."

Tim huffed and shot her a disbelieving look, rubbing gingerly over his still blazing backside.

"Oh, I know it hurt," she said earnestly, a wry smile quirking her lips as she slid a meaningful glance back over her shoulder toward her own backside. "But he wasn't trying to hurt you." When Tim snorted, she continued, "I mean, he wanted it to hurt, but he wasn't trying to hurt _you_. Not really. Not in a harmful kind of way."

Abby stepped over to the stove, dipping the spoon into the soup pot and scooping out a small amount to taste test. Tim's brow furrowed, watching her. How did she take all this so easily, as if it were nothing unusual for two adults to be discussing being spanked?

"It is for me," Abby answered before he even realized he'd spoken aloud. "It's natural. I don't remember a part of my life, with the exception of maybe the past few years, when getting a spanking wasn't a possible consequence of screwing up. And even then, I dabbled in it for play. So it's really not that big a deal that it is again." Grabbing an oven mitt, she took the bread from the oven and dropped the pan atop a hot pad on the counter then spooned soup into a bowl and passed both it and a breadstick to Tim.

He took them, cupping the bowl in one hand, as he settled against the counter and began to eat. "This is great, Abby," he murmured, thinking through what she'd said, trying desperately to sort out the roiling mass of thoughts in his head.

Abby grinned in response. "Black-eyed pea gumbo," she said, "Louisiana comfort food."

Tim chuckled, amused at the way her normally non-existent accent thickened when she spoke of her childhood home. Then, suddenly, his brain caught up with something she had said and the amusement drained to shock in an instant. "You said is," he stammered.

Now it was Abby's turn to gape uncomprehending. "Huh?"

"Before," Tim said, "you said spanking is a part of your life again."

"Yeah," she said slowly, still confused.

"Not was," he continued, his tone prompting. When she didn't respond, he went on. "As if it's not over, as if it could happen again."

Abby shrugged. "Well, yeah. I mean, I don't plan on doing anything to give him a reason to any time soon, but I figure if I did; he would. Gibbs doesn't do anything by halves, you know, and now that he's set the precedent, I don't expect him to go back on it." She glanced up at Tim, meaning to gauge if he understood, and realized Tim was hyperventilating.

She dropped her spoon to the counter with a clatter and quickly set her bowl aside, racing to him. "Easy, Tim, breathe." She took his bowl out of his hands for fear he'd drop it. "Deep, slow breaths," she coaxed.

McGee obeyed, and after a moment, he seemed to find himself again. "Oh, god," he groaned.

"What?" Abby asked, eyes wide with anxiety. "What's wrong?"

"Gibbs should have let me resign," he muttered.

"What? No!" She drew back and punched him on the shoulder—hard. "What are you talking about?"

Tim yelped, covering the now sore spot with his other hand to protect it from further injury. "What did you do that for?"

Abby just glared at him.

"I tried to resign," he said and winced when her glare got stronger. "It seemed like the right thing at the time."

"How could that ever be the right thing?" Abby muttered, sending him a look that clearly suggested he was seriously deluded.

"I screwed up bad, and I knew it," Tim replied. "Never ever leave a protectee alone. Every agent worth their salt knows that, and I figured if I screwed that up I must not be worth my salt. You gotta understand, Abs, I fully expected to be fired today. So when I tried to resign, I figured I was just getting out before the director had a chance to fire me." He looked down, studying his bowl intently. "Gibbs wouldn't let me resign though. He spanked me instead. "

"Well, of course he did," Abby said, exasperated. "You didn't think Gibbs was just going to let you get fired, did you?"

"Thought he was going to do the firing," Tim admitted in a low voice.

"You really don't know him at all, do you?" Abby asked, surprised.

"I know him well enough to know he doesn't tolerate screwups," Tim replied. Just like my dad, he thought. Both of them were military men to the bone. Both expected perfection and accepted nothing less. Tim loved his father and knew his father loved him, but he knew the rules. He always had.

Abby shook her head, torn between exasperated and amused. "You honestly don't get it. He's not some kind of slave driver, Tim. He's tough, yeah, but he knows we're human. Nobody gets it right all the time, except maybe Gibbs himself."

"That's the problem," Tim told her. "He gets it right, and then holds us to his standards."

"Maybe," Abby agreed, "in a way, but it's not as extreme as you seem to think. Yeah, he'll chew you out, maybe smack your head, or if it's really bad, even spank you, but he does all that to protect you. Sometimes from official sanctions; sometimes from your own stupidity and guilt."

Tim blushed and ducked his head, acknowledging the implied reprimand, but he still clearly wasn't buying her logic.

"Think about it," Abby went on, determined to make him understand. "Why else would he have done it? If he didn't care, why not just turn you over to the director or let you resign?"

Maybe because he wanted to make damn clear that I answer to him, Tim thought briefly. But it didn't feel true. If he were honest, what Abby was saying made a lot more sense and felt a lot more true to what he actually sensed from Gibbs this afternoon.

"This team, me, you, Tony, and maybe even Ziva a little, we're his family. We're not just his team, Tim. He thinks of us like his kids," Abby said.

Tim shook his head. "You, sure, everybody knows he thinks of you like a daughter. And Tony, yeah, even Ducky says he's just a chip off the old block, but not me, I'm just the techno-geek."

"Oh, Timmy," Abby said, in that tone of voice that always made him feel like a little boy she just wanted to pick up and squeeze. "That's not true at all. If that were the case, he never would've hired you. They're half a dozen techno-geeks in the basement just across the street. He wanted you. He saw something in you."

"Maybe," Tim said, clearly doubtful, "but it doesn't matter. There's no way I can work with now. I'll be a nervous wreck, terrified of being spanked all the time. I'll never be able to do anything right."

Abby shook her head slowly. "Timmy, Timmy, Timmy, you've got it all wrong. It's not like that at all. Just because Gibbs spanked you once, doesn't mean he's gonna do it for every little thing. I've worked for him for years, and as far as I know, the two of us are the only two he's ever spanked. He only did it now because you were so guilty you were going to resign, and I was guilty enough that I was drunk and on the verge of hurting myself with his tools. You gotta admit, that's pretty big."

Tim nodded noncommittally, busying himself by gathering their now empty dishes and loading them into the dishwasher. He wanted to believe her, and in a way, it made some sense, but the big what if still lingered. How could he face Gibbs in the morning? How could he get through every day, knowing this might happen again?

"Trust me, Timmy," Abby said, coming up behind him. "It took something major for him to do it this time, and it'll take something major for him to do it again, if he ever does. Knowing you, you could probably work for him another 20 years without it ever happening again."

That brought him some relief. She had a point. He had no intention of screwing up this big ever again. So why worry about something that would probably never happen?

She began to move around him, gathering up bags and throwing away trash. Finally, when the kitchen was in some semblance of order, she turned and hugged Tim again. "You gonna be okay now?" she asked, moving toward the door.

Tim nodded. "Yeah, Abs, I'm fine. Thanks for dinner," he told her, surprised to find that it was true. He was fine or if not fine, at least better. His butt still hurt, he still didn't know how he felt about spanking in general, and he was still more than a little nervous about facing Gibbs in the morning, but it was over and likely never had never going to happen again so he really didn't have anything to worry about. Did he?


End file.
